100 years

I asked her to tell me, the secret.
I asked her to tell me, how I too could live in this way
joyful. a life
sprouting seeds to spread for love of others
of moments
of breathe.

And she told me.
For to not compare oneself to others.
Not to count the ways
in which another face
another voice
a different name
could possibly
be more.
She told me.
To know what you have
you can be thankful.

She told me.
And I remembered.

Not for granted are the toes
of my bending steps,
and the orange and red autumn trees
that walk me home,
perhaps in the hand of a new friend
with shared laughs,
the tear that I may drop from my eye,
when she soars back to dance among old friends,
and the push of water in my ocean swim,
where the reflection of my sister resides.

She told me.
And I listen.

Resting in peace. Isabelle Elias. 100 years and 4 months.